“You want to wed the governess?” Elinor shifted on the chaise, her dark eyes fastening on his in a death glare that would have rivaled Josephine Bonaparte’s most demanding moments.

James winced. He’d known telling his sisters would be difficult, but if Elinor’s voice became any higher, dogs would be the only ones able to hear. At least Korianna was still in London. It had taken two months to repair the damage from the last argument she’d had with him.

Still, he’d chosen the parlor for this conversation because there were fewer things Elinor might hurl at him. A man could never be too careful. Using that same reasoning, he’d sent Vivian down to the village market and asked that the servants not disturb their meeting.

Arden crossed the room, coming to stand behind the plum chaise. Her face shadowed from Elinor’s vision, Arden caught his eye and mouthed her apologies.

Not for the first time, James sent a silent prayer of gratitude that he had one sane sister. Because she’d been adopted as a child and raised as a Spencer, Arden didn’t have the bloodline’s famed hot temper.

“I’m sure Jim has his reasons,” Arden began, placing a reassuring hand on Elinor’s shoulder.

Elinor in turn grasped at her hand as though she was a life raft in a turbulent sea. “I can’t imagine any of them would be valid. I presented you with a list of six appropriate candidates, and you choose our governess? Really, Jim.”

James muffled his groan. Of course, Elinor would believe she could arrange his life better than he could. He crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a finger of brandy. Three o’clock in the afternoon be damned.

He downed the glass in one fell gulp, gasping as the burn slid from his throat to his stomach. Schooling his features into a mask of determined resolution, he turned back around. “Ellie, has it occurred to you that you really don’t get to have an opinion in who I marry?”

Elinor blinked.

Arden exchanged a glance with him, an impish smile curling her rouged lips.

Elinor recovered, draping her hand over the side of the couch as though she had all the time in the world to debate this with him. Once, she’d argued with him for four hours over the guest list for the end of the Season ball. He’d eventually given up and allowed her to invite half of the ton. His dislike of Society—and its marriage-minded mamas—was outmatched by his desire to end to the conversation.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniffed. “You can like anyone you choose. I like the tiger that drives our carriage. I like the cobbler. I do not wish to marry them.”

He told himself not to respond, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “That’s completely different, and you know it.”

“Is it, really?” Elinor arched her brows at him in the perfect display of skepticism she’d perfected over years of winning arguments against him.

But this time, he vowed, it would be different. Vivian depended on him. He’d promised he’d protect her, and that was one promise he would never break.

Did you catch the blackguard who killed her?

He remembered Vivian’s question that night in his office. He’d been able to do something about Louisa’s death. Now that Vivian knew who had killed Evan, she wouldn’t stop until Sauveterre was either captured or dead. People touched by grief surged onward, forsaking their own safety until their revenge was achieved. Considering her first attempt had brought a likely Bonaparte spy to their door, he shuddered to think of what else she’d encounter.

“Jim is quite capable of choosing his bride.” Arden sunk down into the voluminous cushions of the hunter green armchair the Lion had always preferred. “Besides, I like Miss Loren, and so does Thomas.”

“I like Miss Loren too,” Elinor said. “If she hadn’t entered service, I might even support this, though I’d of course think you could do better than the ward of a viscount.”

“I was the ward of the duke,” Arden reminded her, quietly but firmly.

Elinor’s face softened. “Yes, but you were different.”

“Why?” Arden arched a single brow at her. “If you’re willing to give me a chance, why not Miss Loren?”

James smiled appreciatively at Arden. No matter what, she had always had his back.

“Because our father was already married and settled. Adopting a ward does not draw the same scrutiny as taking a wife.” Elinor frowned, peering down her nose at them both. “Don’t make me out to be the villain here, you two. A governess has no place as the Duchess of Abermont, no matter how delightful she might be. Our reputations are our best covers.”

“You might want to tell Korianna that,” James muttered.

Elinor sighed. “I have. Many times. She, like you, doesn’t listen to me.”

He took a seat on the settee across from her. “I listen, Ellie. I don’t always agree with you, but I listen.”

Whatever scandal stirred up by his marriage to Vivian Loren would be small in comparison to the attention of a full Season of old biddies cornering him, and the scandal sheets reporting on his every move. There simply wasn’t time to find a wife before the Season started, man the Clocktower, manage his other responsibilities with Abermont House, and solve the Sauveterre problem.

Unless he married Vivian.

And he wanted to marry her, whether or not his cover depended on it. Even if he knew he didn’t deserve a woman like Vivian.

“It will hardly be the worst scandal the ton has seen,” Arden said. “Just think of Elizabeth Chudleigh, or even Prince George’s affair with Mary Darby.”

“There you have it, she could be an actress,” James retorted with a wry grin at Arden. “That would give you apoplexy. Be grateful Miss Loren is a governess.”

Arden sent him a reproving look that effectively summarized as “don’t poke the bear.”

“‘Grateful’ and ‘governesses’ do not belong in the same sentence,” Elinor snipped.

“There are other matters at play here too.” Advancing to the chaise, he pulled out the notes he’d received from Vivian and handed them to Elinor. She read each one, her forehead crinkling in confusion. When she’d finished with the notes, she passed them over to Arden.

He summarized everything Vivian had told him the day before.

Arden grimaced as she gave him back the letters. “What do we know about Sauveterre? I don’t recognize the name.”

“Nor do I,” James said.

In tandem, they both turned expectant gazes toward Elinor.

Elinor’s eyes widened, feigning modesty. “Why would you think I’d know him?”

Usually, James would have rolled his eyes, but today he’d indulge her, for Miss Loren’s sake. “Because you remember every single enemy agent we’ve encountered.”

She smiled drolly. “I suppose that’s true. But no, he’s not familiar to me either. I could certainly check our records.”

As soon as they left the room, he strongly suspected his eldest sister would be rubbing her hands together with glee over consulting her files in the secret room.

And not for the first time, he’d be grateful for her efforts.

“If you can’t find anything there, send Korianna to the main archives,” he ordered, as he would have with any other agent.

Korianna was already in London, and Elinor’s illness had become too unpredictable for her to travel much. One day she’d be fine, and the next she could not move from the pain.

Elinor’s posture stiffened at his dictatorial tone. “Of course.” Her glare told him that his command should have gone without saying.

“I’m sure if there’s a connection, Elinor will find it,” Arden interjected smoothly, her eyes flickering from his face to Elinor’s and back. As soon as her sister’s stance relaxed, the uneasiness left Arden’s expression.

Always the peacemaker. As the youngest sibling in a house full of firebrands, Arden had often been tasked with interference. When they were younger, it had been him and Elinor against Korianna and Louisa. Their lines had been drawn, their fights routine. Now that Louisa was gone, they were combatants without allegiances. The rhythm of their family was forever changed.

He’d lost his little sister, but he’d be damned if he lost Vivian too.

“We need to move fast,” James said. “No more close calls.”

“Always have a contingency plan.” A smile ghosted Elinor’s lips. “One of Papa’s favorite expressions.

“So Sauveterre suspects you,” Arden mused. “But not the rest of us?”

James nodded. “From what Miss Loren said, I don’t think he knows about any of you, or even the Clocktower. He must have found something that made him think I’m working for the Crown.”

Elinor pursed her lips, running her hand down the back of the divan. “Precautions will need to be taken. You are absolutely certain this girl is telling the truth?”

He thought of how damnably distraught she’d looked in the conservatory. How he’d drawn her close, his arm around her, never wanting to let her go. The way her head nestled against his shoulder, as if he was truly a hero. And he knew, with the same level of certainty that he knew he’d never be the hero she deserved, that nothing she had told him was a lie.

“She’s telling the truth,” he said, looking straight into his sisters’ eyes. “I know it. The threat against Miss Loren is very real.”

Something in his tone must have stopped her, for Elinor opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it. She settled back upon the divan and waited for him to continue. In the chair beside her, Arden remained silent. Yet without needing to meet her eyes, he could feel her gaze upon him. Observing him. Calculating any minor shifts in his emotion. He’d taught Arden how to interrogate, and damned if she didn’t use his own tactics against him.

“The bastard sent her teeth.” James’s fist clenched on the arm of his chair, a futile attempt to master his rage at the memory.

Elinor’s nose wrinkled. “How...odd.”

“Her dead brother’s teeth.”

“Oh,” Arden and Elinor said at once.

“It wasn’t enough to coerce her. He had to torment and threaten her too.” His nails dug into his palm, the sharp stab of pain keeping him alert. Reminding him he was alive, when so many others more deserving than him weren’t. “She needs us to protect her.”

She needs me.

And maybe, he needed her. Not because of some great love, for he’d long since stopped believing that a spy could ever achieve real happiness. But around her, he began to see glimpses of the man he’d been before Louisa’s death.

He needed to be that man again. For the Clocktower. For his own sanity.

“We should help,” Arden said, with a plaintive look toward her eldest sister. “We can’t allow an ingénue to go up against a murderer.”

Elinor let out a loud sigh of exasperation, but James could tell from the sparkle in her eyes that she’d relented. “I suppose a governess in the family isn’t the worst that could happen.”

No, the worst was another death. Miss Loren’s vivaciousness extinguished. Her corpse cast out into the stews of Seven Dials like her brother.

He wouldn’t let that happen. She’d be protected as his duchess. Afforded the same rights as any peer—though that hadn’t helped to save his sister.

He had to do better. To be better. “I want this man captured. Whatever we have to do to get him, we’ll do.”

* * *

The hours between midnight and three in the morning had become James’s favorite. Every night since Louisa’s death, insomnia besieged him; an uninvited guest that long overstayed its welcome. But in his sleepless state, he’d discovered the peacefulness of silence in a house that was rarely ever quiet.

In those magical three hours when he roamed the grounds, he was neither a duke nor the head of the Clocktower. He was simply a man communing with nature.

Tonight, five days after his proposal to Vivian Loren, he strolled onto the front lawn of Abermont House. The full moon was half-hidden by murky clouds, providing moderate guidance for his walk. He did not carry a lantern with him. After so many years of training, he felt more at home under the cover of darkness than he did in the harsh light of day.

James breathed in the crisp night air and said a silent prayer for fortitude in the coming weeks. He stopped, leaning forward to smell the fresh blooms of the rose bushes lining the drive. God, how the flowers reminded him of Vivian. The romantic scent of her soap. The softness of her skin. That delicate flush of her cheeks, so much like the first buds of spring.

The sudden crack of a twig interrupted his reverie. His senses on high alert, James spun around. A figure appeared in the distance. A woman, he guessed. Tall and reedy, her frame was almost boyish—were it not for the outline of her gown in the moonlight, he would have marked her as a man. A peal of recognition sounded in his mind, though from this distance, he didn’t want to chance that he was wrong about her identity. She was too far away for him to be absolutely certain, and he believed in caution above all else.

Moving swiftly, she slipped down the tree-lined drive. She knew exactly what spots would shelter her from the gas lamps. He advanced, keeping sufficient distance between them that he remained shrouded in shadow, yet near enough he could positively identify her. She turned to face him, and he ducked behind a tree for cover, peeking out from behind the trunk.

Of course. Korianna. She wasn’t due back from London for another two nights, but she’d always loved to make a grand entrance.

It was a trait she’d shared with Louisa.

He frowned as she stepped out into the open, tilting her head up toward the sky. As if she’d ascertained that there was no threat, and she needn’t be careful now.

Come now, Kori, you can do better.

All-too-familiar tension seized hold of his gut and twisted. When would she learn not to be so damned reckless? Hadn’t they lost enough already? James crouched, in one smooth movement pulling out the knife sheathed in his boot and standing back up.

Countless lectures had done nothing. He could not pull her from sanctioned missions—such was the lone saddle he could put upon this wild horse. While he had retreated inside himself, throwing himself deeper and deeper into the management of the Clocktower, she had come to live for the field.

So he’d use language she’d understand. Violence and blood. He’d remind her that they must always be careful. A simple attack not meant to do more than scare her into being sensible.

He crept closer. He waited until she paused. Her arm moved as though she brushed something off her skirt. Seizing the opportunity, he launched himself onto her, wrapping his forearm around her throat. The blade of his knife pressed into her throat.

He should have had the advantage. He had at least fifty pounds on her.

Yet before he could process what was happening, she’d slammed the ball of her foot into his knee. Pain shot through him. His grip on the knife wavered. Taking advantage of his weakness, she placed one hand above his elbow, the other below it. With one swift motion, she spun around, using his arm as a hinge so she could escape his hold.

Bloody, bloody hell. His attempt at teaching her had been turned upon him.

Korianna fixed her hat back to the proper jaunty angle and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. Her brown eyes gleamed impishly, a sardonic smile curling up her rouged lips.

She raised her hand to her brow, executing a mock salute. “You’re getting sloppy. Too many hours spent in the office make Jim a very dull boy, you know.”

He slid the knife back into his boot, trying to ignore her remark, even though a part of him wondered if she was right. He hadn’t been out in the field since Louisa’s death. Could he really keep Vivian safe? He swallowed down his doubt. Yes. One failed attack did not negate years of training. He’d beaten Korianna as many times as she’d thrashed him in the past. That’s what had made them good sparring partners. She fought with passion, making her attacks harder to predict but oft less effective; he fought with logic, proven combined steps and greater estimated damage.

Still, tomorrow he’d start doubling his mills. A session with Arden in the morning, and his regular one with Richard in the evening.

Straightening his waistcoat, he faced Korianna, keeping his expression impassive. “One victory, Kori. I needn’t remind you of the last time we met like this.” She’d ended up with a bloody nose and bruised ribs.

Korianna shrugged. “I survived just fine.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “In most circles, it’s considered polite to inform the host before you show up on his doorstep. In this family, it’s a matter of life or death. I could have slit your throat.”

Korianna let out a loud huff of protest. “You tried and failed.”

His brows wrinkled. “I’m serious. I knew it was you all along, but you still weren’t aware I was sneaking up on you.”

For a second, doubt flickered across her face. It was more self-examination than he usually had from her, so he’d consider it a victory.

He took her arm, escorting her down the lane. “Why didn’t you write?”

She shrugged, the casual bravado to her motion reminding him more of an insouciant lad than a finely bred miss. “Didn't seem a need to, when it's a day trip by hack. I'd already be here by the time you received the missive. The bloody post's so slow.”

“Language, Kori,” he replied automatically, though he knew it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, let me be, won’t you?”

He suppressed a sigh, reminding himself that however much Korianna irritated him, she was still family and family needed to be held close. All too quickly that age-old pang of loss edged up on him, and he shoved his hands into his coat pockets, trying to ignore it.

The mission, he reminded himself. Talk of the mission would steady him, giving him purpose. Korianna had gone to the records room at the Clocktower headquarters.

“Did you get it?” he asked, beginning to walk back to the house.

Korianna shot him a look. “Of course I have it. When I have ever failed you?”

“Hanover Square.” He answered too quickly, for her expression soured.

“That was one bomb, Jim, and it wasn’t even a large one.” She frowned at him, refusing to take the arm he proffered to escort her down the drive. Instead, she strode forward, one full stride in front of him. A difficult task, in her dress and petticoats. But that was Korianna: audacious, infuriating, and highly competitive.

“One bomb in a square the Beau Monde frequents,” he reminded her. “The mission was to gather intelligence.”

“And I did one better,” Korianna said. “Arden and I snagged you the enemy agent you wanted, and we did it without having to involve Wickham.”

“Just because it worked in this case doesn’t mean it’ll always work.” He sped up, grabbing for her arm to spin her around so that she faced him. “Listen to me, chit. You could have been caught.”

Korianna wrenched her arm away from his grip. “I’m not some child you can order around anymore. I wasn’t caught. I’m never caught.”

“Kori—” He gave up halfway through another attempt to force caution into her. After they’d dealt with Sauveterre, next on his list was managing Korianna. “What did you discover about Evan Loren?”

“Nine trips overall. I cross-examined the timeline of Miss Loren’s brother’s tenure at Hoare’s Bank against known covert activities at the time.” Officially, the Alien Office’s main purpose was to monitor entrances and exits into the country by foreigners. Korianna had gone to their headquarters to check their files against the Clocktower’s. She tilted her head toward him, a curious expression on her face. “You know, this really would have been a better job for Elinor.”

“She’s indisposed,” James said with chagrin. Elinor could walk into any records room and immediately know the layout, but when her illness flared, traveling became near impossible. The mere act of moving from bed was taxing.

Korianna frowned. “Again? That’s twice in the last four months.” She dropped back to walk with him, now accepting his arm. They’d made it down the driveway, and now stood at the front of the house. Steering him toward the garden, Korianna opened the gate. “I’ve spent all day cloistered in a hack. The night air is lovely.”

He agreed, and they set off down the path. “Tell me about the trips.”

“I copied down the information for Ellie, or as much as I could get without bloody Rupert hanging over my shoulder, peppering me with questions about her.” Korianna rolled her eyes. “I swear to all that is holy, if she doesn’t put him out of his misery, I will.”

“Poor Castwell,” James laughed. The head archivist was hopelessly enamored with Elinor, though she ignored his attentions. “But at least his fancy for our sister is useful. At times.”

“I’d like him much better if he stayed out of my way,” Korianna grumbled. “As it stands, it appears Evan Loren went to France six times in the last three years, and Switzerland thrice, under the guise of work for Hoare’s Bank.”

“Anything match our missions, or French activity?”

Korianna’s nod confirmed his suspicions. “Five of the trips match.”

“So he’s an agent. But whose? Definitely not ours.” He and Elinor were the sole people to know the real identities of all the Clocktower agents. The rest of the spies went by code-names exclusively, unless they had prior knowledge of each other, as in the case of Deacon and Richard.

“I suspect the Alien Office,” Korianna mused. “If he were French, there would be more crossover with Bonaparte. The events that flagged are British missions.”

James let out a sigh of relief. At least Vivian would have the solace of knowing her brother was loyal to his country.

“I didn’t make inquiries to Wickham’s assistants,” Korianna said. “I figured you’d want to do that.”

“Good.” The spymaster hadn’t mentioned Evan Loren when he’d performed Vivian’s background investigation for her governess position.

If they went to Wickham now, without the shield of Vivian being his duchess, there was a grave chance that she could be taken into custody. He couldn’t risk that. He felt it in his gut that she’d been used by Sauveterre—she didn’t deserve to be gaoled as a possible enemy to the Crown.

“After the wedding, I’ll contact Wickham myself.” They had come to the bench where he’d found Vivian sitting last week. The moonlight shone down on the white-painted wood, silhouetting the alcove. He paused in front of it, his hand on the armrest.

Once he formed an accurate picture of Evan’s life, he’d know how the man ended up in Sauveterre’s crosshairs. And from that, he’d extrapolate how he had come to this Sauveterre’s attention.

He carded a hand through his hair, frowning at the bench. Puzzles had never been his favorite. He was a problem-solver, a delegator. The pieces of this mystery whipped through his mind, never fitting together. He knew enough to proceed on his current course. Enough to suppose that Evan Loren really was one of Wickham’s, and a damnably skilled agent at that. Wickham wouldn’t have protected the identity of a lower agent in Vivian’s background check, not to him. The Clocktower and the Alien Office worked together, but ultimately Wickham was the supreme power.

Korianna watched him in a rare moment of silence.

He shifted uncomfortably, not used to her scrutiny. “Is there something else?”

“Vivian Loren. Ellie’s letter about your engagement made it all sound so...dispassionate.” She spoke with softness unfamiliar to him, more sister than spy now. “But I’m concerned.”

For a moment, they could be naught more than siblings, discussing his betrothal as though it affected two lives, and not the fate of the nation. “Because she was a governess?”

Korianna shook her head. “Of course not. In fact, I relish your name appearing in the scandal sheets instead of mine, for once.”

James’s grimace at that made her laugh more. Though he’d never admit it to her face, he admired her ability to shake off what the rest of the world thought of her.

“Ellie mentioned the threat on Miss Loren’s life.” Korianna’s next words came in a long stream, with barely a breath taken in between. “If you’re doing this out of a sense of a duty, there has to be another way we can keep her safe. You shouldn’t commit to marrying her because you feel some sort of misguided notion that you have to protect everyone.”

“I do have to protect everyone.” Fist balled at his side, he spoke through gritted teeth. He couldn’t expect Korianna to understand, not when she threw herself in danger’s way at the drop of a hat.

“She’s gone, Jim,” Korianna whispered. “Martyring yourself won’t bring her back. As for the rest of us, you have to trust we know how to live our own lives.”

He turned away from the bench, back down the trail. Back toward Abermont House. Back toward Vivian, who he’d vowed to protect with his life, and who somehow managed to pry out of him the very things he did not wish to talk about.

Korianna followed after him, for once not turning the walk back into a race. As she pulled open the door to the conservatory, he shook his head. “This marriage—it’s not just the duty. It’s something more. She’s something more.”

A grin stretched across Korianna’s face. “That’s all I needed to know.”